Paris Remembers
by Lady Eponine Black
Summary: Even when certain people have drifted through the cracks of life, and have been forgotten by all, the city remembers. Yes, Paris always remembers. a series of poems about some of the Les Miserables characters.
1. Eponine

In the silent morning dawn,

When the smoke smells of memories,

A candle flickers-then is gone.

A light goes out behind her eyes,

Her face goes blank in a rush of flame.

No more will the world see the tears that she cries,

That waters the slums and dark Paris ground.

The young fury who ran blind though long muggy nights.

The child is lost now, cannot be found.

And nobody remembers, no, nobody remembers.

The one who watered the flowers with tears.

Who was a goblin that appeared from languid gloom,

And only cried in the dark where the lonely wind hears.

Born in love and raised with care,

A pampered child of indulgence and spite.

But then she looks and see's that there's nobody there.

Thrust into life so young, she can't help but change,

And that pretty laughing child is lost to her now.

But so few notice this metamorphosis so strange,

And nobody will remember. No, nobody will remember.

She was a gamin born from mist and loss,

Who followed a man to a garden gate.

Who protected her true love whatever the cost,

And snuck slowly away under the wing of the night.

A fallen flower who watched from ever afar,

And gazed without regret at the receding light.

Who intercepted a message, delivered a letter.

Followed the schoolboys who followed a flag,

Hoping this was the way her life could be better.

But she's dead and nobody will remember, no, nobody will remember.

But the city remembers, yes, the city remembers.

Remembers the girl on shadow-soft feet down the path,

Who made little noise as she watched herself spiral down.

Whose raspy voice echoed the young childish laugh,

Which rang through the years, a tormentor, a ghost.

The girl who jumped in front of a bullet for one who cared not,

And died in the arms of the one she loved most.

Corrupted by pain, her love bright as day,

Who screamed through the silence and tried to be strong.

Now the wind has drifted this specter away.

But the city remembers, yes, Paris always remembers.


	2. Azelma

In the languid listless night,

She sits with her face to the molted window.

Gazes through the grime at the crystal moonlight,

And she cries as she watches the light disappear,

For the rocking of the boat is morose and lonely,

And she wishes she could be anywhere but here.

For she's leaving the only life she's ever known,

leaving without hope in the wallowing night.

For without her sister she is truly alone.

And when she's gone nobody will remember, no, nobody will remember.

The sad little gamine who wandered through the days,

Who sat by the bank of the river and cried,

Wondering if she could simply wish the bad things away.

Who sat in the darkness, and did as she was told,

Whispered her secrets into the bottomless void.

Who shivered with loneliness, turned blue with cold,

Fondled the chilly nighttime with hot rimy tears,

And counted the snowflakes that sang like the stars.

She remembers the whispers that nobody hears,

But when she's gone nobody will remember, non, nobody remembers.

The girl who hid in corners and knew nobody could see,

Who carried out her fathers plans and learned not to care.

A soul who knew that there was no place she could safely be.

The child who listened at the rotten doorways of life,

Who skulked in the mysteries of the cruel Paris streets,

And watched with large eyes their desolate strife.

Watched as she sister descended into the ground.

But could not shed tears over another meaningless death,

And yet screaming to the sky with the pain she had found.

Pain that when she's gone, nobody will remember, no, nobody will remember.

But the city remembers-yes, the city remembers.

Remembers the child who entered wide-eyed and clear,

And exited ten years later so trampled and despondent.

Left the city steeped rancid in cold blood and fear.

Who sailed at dawn under the crimson bled sky,

And lifted her arms to embrace the red wind.

Waved to her city, her final tearstained goodbye.

This creature, descended so far into the yearning abyss

Fallen so fast into droppings and dust.

And as the boat turns away, she knows she won't be missed-

But the city will remember, yes, Paris always remembers.


	3. Two Little Boys

In the garden, in the seeping sewage of sun,

Staring out over the wide wooden fence

Two little brothers know their journey has just begun.

From a comfortable home, and a normal life,

Thrust into the world by chance and by fate,

They wait on the edges, eyes wide at the strife,

Knowing that they will have to make their own way.

They are together though, not alone in their fight,

And they have each other on this miserable day.

But when they're gone, nobody will remember, no, nobody remembers.

Two little boys who've been handed over from mother to mother,

Who found that the second home was best,

But now they are alone, have only each other,

On the wide Paris streets that to them seen to vast.

They look at each other wide-eyed, in this odd turn of events,

Wonder how long this strange circumstance will last.

They are unwise in the quick shady ways of the street.

and long for the comfortable home they've always known.

But by chance, by some luck, they so happen to meet,

A gamin who gives them some bread and some hope.

A boy who taught them what being free means,

And showed them what it means, on the streets, to cope.

But when he's dead, nobody will remember them, no, nobody will remember.

Two boys who were scared of an elephant, of the dark,

But fell asleep safe by their brother, in his bed.

Who went and found food at the warm sunny park,

Unhearing the gunshots that killed their only friend.

They took the cake a rich boy had thrown away,

And laughed, unknowing that Gavroche met his end.

But now they are lost, in the maze of the dawn,

Wandering around empty, (the little one, he cries.)

And disappear into the sunrise-from history gone,

And nobody will remember, no, nobody will remembers.

But the city remember, yes, the city remembers.

Remembers the boys who cried in the night,

Watched their brother with envy at his confidence and smile.

Who clung to him close in the dark of the night,

And woke up to find that they were alone once more.

Who wandered the streets until they found something to eat,

And wandered off again, away from the cities gore.

Who were unloved and forgotten, whose fate was blown away by the wind,

And watched with dispair their life fall apart.

But they are on their own, their own story will soon begin.

And when the leave, the city will remember, yes, Paris always remembers.


End file.
